Tastes So Sweet
by CookingKiller
Summary: -Shawn/Hunter- Kind of PWP. 'Shawn started the fight with a cupcake, thrown right on his nose, and a loud laugh , Hunter won. Hunter always won. It's the first time something like this happens, though...'


_I have nothing for Valentine's Day, so I'm posting this one._

Quickly written months ago, for Hunter's birthday.

_Remember how he was pied on Raw? Our slashy brains on ATC said he also had a food fight with Shawn. And I decided it should be written. Quickly. With a lame ending. But you're not reading a PWP for the ending, are you._

_Not the sexiest one you've ever read either, me thinks. Certainly not the dirtiest. Try and enjoy still if you will~_

* * *

He remembers thinking, _shit it's everywhere_, wondering how long it was going to take to make Shawn clean it all up (his fault), and that it was also everywhere on them, face and body. And something clicked, or went wrong with the wheels of his brain, whichever.

It's a strange mix on his tongue. Sweetness of the cream, the feel and the taste, and the harsh stubble underneath. Until he reaches smoother skin, near the cheekbone. And that's where the taste changes, a little less of chocolate, a little more of Shawn. Whatever that is he tastes like.

Hot air brushes his own skin, from a deep breathing. It hitches when his tongue licks a path down a neck this time. More cream. More stubble. The beating of Shawn's heart.

His hands around the pinned wrists tighten. Shawn started the fight (with a cupcake, thrown right on his nose, and a loud laugh), Hunter won. Hunter always won.

It's the first time something like this happens, though, fighting with food like kids, rolling around the floor like kids, and then...

Busying himself with the base of his neck, he slowly lets the wrists go – Shawn isn't going to run off. Not now.

Two hands grab his head roughly, and the arm he's resting on twists uncomfortably when he's pulled forward, and down again.

Lips also taste like chocolate and something else, a little of tobacco, a little of Shawn. They're much warmer. The kiss feels urgent, is sloppy, kind of awkward, almost close-mouthed. Mind-blowing.

Shawn gives him a second to take some oxygen in, a voice screams something like _holy fuck_ in his mind, and he just stares at that reddish mouth before it crashes against his again. He thoroughly tastes the inside this time. Shawn's fingers smear his face with frosting, force their way into his hair.

He shifts to relieve his right arm. Slides the other one under Shawn's waist after a while, after a moan from one of them, and sit them both up when he's given a moment to breathe again.

Somehow, it's only now that it hits him, fully, how close they are, face to face. What they're doing. His eyes stop focusing on swollen lips and meet blue. Inside his head, the voice screams something again. He wants to repeat it, aloud, but Shawn is getting even closer, and now all Hunter's eyes meet is the opposite formerly white wall turned canvas for food paint, the dark corridor, the door. Should be closed.

The side of his face is licked clean of frosting, he watches as a good amount of chocolate drips down the wall. One drop reached the floor when that tongue latches on his throat., his pulse frantic there. Then his eyes close by themselves, the hands clutching his shoulders squeeze hard. His eyelids allow him to see the tiny sugary puddle at the base of the wall only when Shawn's tongue leaves his skin. His forehead meets Hunter's shoulder, fingers slide down Hunter's arms, probably still dirty enough to stain the light fabric. Play with the sleeves. Shaky breathing near his ear.

He swallows, and once more, would like to talk. A simple _Shawn_ comes to mind. _What the fuck_ comes to mind. "Hey..." Has to clear his throat. His heart is still thudding there. "Don't stop."

But he doesn't feel like waiting for a reaction, pulling Shawn's face back up and in front of him.

A lock of hair heavy with cream sticks to his cheek when he tilts his head and leans in. Lips are extended in a smile before he presses against them. And still that taste _(vanilla...?),_ somewhat changed now. Mixed with what would be his own. He licks what lingers of it on his lips when the kiss ceases, Shawn grabs the end of his t-shirt. Drags it up, and up, and Hunter's eyes widen, blink twice, when it's sent flying towards the wall and lands next to the puddle of chocolate.

_You saw that a thousand times before. _

Yet it's a line they just crossed. He certainly never had Shawn grinding against him, looking at him, kissing him like that a thousand times before. Never had Shawn pop open all the buttons of his shirt to get it off him. And all those women who definitely did that a thousand of times, before, they weren't...

_They weren't Shawn? _

They weren't Shawn. There's no red trails of lipstick (happens, sometimes, hates that) on his chest and no long nails digging in his hips.

There's also nothing to lick off anymore, Hunter is pretty sure of that, but that hot mouth is all over him.

His legs are starting to go numb. He lies back down, bringing Shawn with him. Wraps his arms around him as far as he can, as tightly as he can without smothering him. The wheels of his brain are still struggling. A hand goes to his fly and tugs it down. He forgot whose birthday it was. Cups the side of Shawn's face, Shawn nuzzles his palm. The hand who opened his jeans is sliding close to the waistband of his boxers. It stills when Hunter reaches for a zipper himself. The jeans are dotted with cream and chocolate, the top button slippery.

_Levi's. Happy birthday, man._ Last year. He didn't feel those urges last year.

The fly slides away from him before he can fully lower it, Shawn crawling backwards. Licking cream and frosting still here (wishes there was more), licking clean skin. Catches the waistband with his teeth. Hunter's eyes widen again. He bites back a nervous laugh. He's going to...

_Holy shit._

There's a tongue running up the underside of his dick, he feels but doesn't see. There's red behind his eyelids.

His right hand immediately searches and finds a head, a grip in long hair sticky with chocolate cream. His left one searches and finds the hand resting flat near his hip; clutches it, tightly.

The pace quickens. His breathing quickens.

It feels as intimate as the few ones he was given hiding in a closet (necessary sometimes). Air seems as rare. There's the certain awkwardness. There's the obscurity. Wouldn't be, if only he could open his eyes. To see, what, a ceiling...a head...his grasping fingers...flesh disappearing between lips in one motion...

"Shawn..." It's a hoarse whisper, and he comes right then, his hands crushing what they hold. And a groan, and another "Shawn...", quieter. Breathless. Eyes finally open.

Hunter props himself up on his elbows, slowly. He expects Shawn to be there kneeling between his legs, wiping his mouth. Licking his lips, maybe. But he's getting up. Going for the table. Hunter takes the opportunity to learn how to breathe again. In and out, in and out, in and out... And Shawn is back next to him, half a cupcake in hand, still munching the other half.

"Taste," he says simply. Scrunching his nose. Voice rough.

What he did to have a lasting bad taste in his mouth downs on Hunter only after a few more breathes. His heart jumps.

Then Shawn straddles him, and his heart jumps multiple times.

His hands go for two hips, automatically, and he lies back down. One more exhalation. The back of his head briefly meets the floor.

_Time to finish what you started._

The button is still undone, the zipper almost down all the way. It lowers by itself when Shawn leans forward; his hands can stay where they are. They slide under the denim, squeeze, try to get the jeans off hurriedly. Shawn's mouth returns to his neck.

Hunter's fingers splay under tight cotton, squeeze again. His skin, against skin, tingles. His thumb traces the tiny inked heart when he notices it. Forgot why Shawn got that tattoo to begin with. Forgot why he regrets it. Traces it again.

Then his throat is left alone, and their eyes meet, just for a second; Shawn's ones close when his hand finally curls around the shaft. And strokes. And he's mesmerized by the swollen lips again, barely conscious of his hand moving. Hears the panting, sees the slightly open mouth, the eyelids fluttering, the eyebrows knitting. And that's all.

Only when the panting turns into whimpering can he react again. Speed up his movements, use his own mouth and teeth on that neck again (couldn't use them with the waistband like he did...), taste that flavor again – still something like vanilla, more chocolate, more of his own taste, more of something else – and, make him moan again. Then fingers bruise his shoulders, a breathing hitches and stops momentarily, warm liquid runs over his hand (can't s...like he did...). He's shaking.

A forehead replaces the clenching fingers, after a while.

They both should be able to think normally again, now.

Shawn's loud breathing isn't helping. Shawn's body against him isn't helping. And he doesn't want to push Shawn off him. Despite the sweat, the drying saliva, the drying semen on his fingers. Despite...

Shawn suddenly moves away, getting back on his knees. Starts to tuck himself back into his clothes, but stops at the underwear.

"We're all sticky." And a giggle. Sounds more nervous than anything.

"Guess we should take a shower." Somehow, he doesn't. Sound nervous. Even with his boxers still somewhere around his thighs. He sounds like someone who doesn't care.

Shawn nods. Passes his fingers through his hair to pull it back, they come out covered in cream. And Hunter is definitely not thinking normally, grabbing the hand to suck two of the digits into his mouth, clean them up with his tongue. The voice in his head is wondering _what are you doing_ again. A soft gasp, and Shawn bites his lower lip. He nips the fingers.

"That shower..." Shawn reminds him, unsteadily.

He kisses the hand before letting it go.

And watches Shawn standing up on slightly shaky legs and walk to the open door. The curve of his back, the muscles shifting.

They'll have to talk about it, at some point, instead of using their mouths to taste each others skin. They'll have to think about it, when his brain won't be stuck on how sexually attractive Shawn looks all of a sudden. He wants to drag him back over here. Over him.

And he'll have to make Shawn clean all that mess, too.

Half-naked. Yeah.

_Happy birthday, man. _Yeah. He'll think about the seriousness of it all later.

"Hunt?" Shawn's voice is still rougher than usual. He's against the door, waiting.

Much later.


End file.
